


Doesn't Mean Anything

by WackyGoofball



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, I don't know what I'm doing, Premiere fic!, getting through the writer's block, if you expect smut - there isn't really - I just tease it. I don't know how to write it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 06:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6600244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime asks his best friend to help him out to defuse some crazy rumors about his relationship status. </p><p>Chaos ensues. </p><p>As always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikkiM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/gifts).



> Hello everyone! Thanks for looking into this story. 
> 
> I gift this to Mikki because she is my role model, pulling through the writer's block - and scintillating with fabulousness in general. 
> 
> It became way longer than I had originally planned. This just... it sort of happened. 
> 
> I am still trying to get through the writer's block. 
> 
> Still no native. Still no beta, just me and my mad, mad world. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy anyway.

Brienne lets out a sigh as she steps out of the bathroom, toweling her still wet hair.

After a long day of work – and subsequent work-out, it’s one of the best sensations imaginable to have the steaming hot water running down her body. The downside of it is that her tank-top now sticks to her in the way she hates it until her skin’s completely dried.

Brienne makes her way over to the kitchen to grab a bottle of juice from the fridge and downs half the bottle in one swig – until the phone beeps. Brienne rolls her eyes and snatches the phone from the counter, massaging her scalp with the towel as she goes. She glances at the screen with a huff before answering in a flat voice, “What do you want?”

“A good day to you, too, m’lady,” she can hear Jaime chuckle from the other end of the line. She’s never met a person who literally has the smile in his voice to the point that it doesn’t require her to see him to know the exact smug face he must be making at present.

“Hi,” she replies monotonously. “ _What do you want_?”

“My, my, you’re rude to me for no reason.”

“Your mere existence is reason enough.”

“You know you love me,” Jaime grins.

“As if. So anyway, what brings me to the honor that you bother to call me?” she asks, as she flips down on the couch ungracefully.

Jaime and Brienne have a history that goes back roughly two years now. In the beginning, they truly, absolutely hated each other.

They met at a party Tyrion’s hosted – and had invited Brienne and her friends to, after Tyrion made her acquaintance through the job some time back, and took a liking to her. Little did he know that having Brienne of Tarth and Jaime Lannister clash was about to unleash natural forces out of epic proportions. Jaime had made the fatal mistake to address her as “him” upon first seeing her, only to then go ahead to cover up for that mistake by making lewd comments instead, and pretty much chase Brienne throughout the entire location even though she told him to lay off, but he insisted, for reasons she fails to understand to this very day.

The evening, to put it simple, was a disaster, and either one hoped to never see the other person’s face again. _Ever_.

Any attempt on Tyrion’s behalf to mediate between the two was proven futile. Brienne didn’t want to have to do with the likes of Jaime Lannister – and she was certain that Jaime felt the same way about her. And to this day, she has no clue why Tyrion insisted that she got along with Jaime, because she didn’t really buy his explanation that he wanted to keep her as a friend – and that if she wanted to be friends with him, bypassing Jaime completely would be a thing of impossibility because the brothers are that close.

In the end, she agreed to have a coffee with the two brothers, only to find herself yet again fighting with the way too handsome older sibling. Tyrion was _that_ close to giving up at this point and only buried his face in the menu as they went on verbally assaulting each other.

The odd thing was once it turned out that they even shared the same hobbies, as Tyrion pointed out to them. That was the moment both just blinked at each other and Tyrion was quick enough to suggest that maybe they should meet up to do something like that together, “if only to make a small dwarf happy and at peace with his friends and family”.

Well, neither one was out for peace, however, so they agreed to meeting up for sports – only to have the competition begin.

Brienne still considers it one of her personal victories that she managed to beat him to the ground during their first MMA fight against each other in the gym (after they awkwardly discovered that they had worked out at the same gym for almost over a year, and just never realized that, also due to the fact that they usually had different hours, but still, they did meet even before that day at the party and just never knew, or so they found out).

And she still considers it one of her worst losses that Jaime continued to trick and tease her into things she never should have and would have agreed to, had she been sane enough to just ignore him.

Just that with Jaime Lannister, there is no ignoring.

To the day, she has no clue how he convinced her of that bloody field trip in the Kingswood.

Well, and now? Now they make an odd set of friends who are all about fighting and _more_ fighting.

“You have to do me a favor,” he replies.

“Aha, and what favor would that be?” she wrinkles her nose.

“Well, you know that I got myself this _fabulous_ role that is going to so push my career in this totally awesome movie…,” he begins, but Brienne is quick enough to interrupt him, “You mean that you got yourself a bigger role in this movie that is actually, for a change, not some Indie project that you usually take part in? Or those cheaply animated films ‘with the narrative depth of a puddle’, to quote you? Oh, or that one time when you had the naked…?”

“ _Enough_ , enough, I got it, I got it. But you know that this is the first larger, serious production I have done, leave me that bit, will you?” Jaime huffs.

“If you just called to boast about starring in a quality film, then I will hang up right now,” Brienne warns him. She wanted to eat takeaway and watch that documentary on medieval weaponry, and not have Jaime boasting about his film career yet again. He does that often enough anyways.

“No, no, now wait. _Wait_!” he cries out in a hurry. “As I said, I need you to do me a favor.”

“And what favor would that be?” Brienne asks, with the slightest of smirks on her lips.

“You have to come to the premiere with me,” he then says.

For a moment, there is just silence.

Brienne’s entire system seems to shut down until she can hear Jaime calling out her name over the phone.

“… Brienne? _Brienne_?! Did you have a seizure now or what? Say something!”

“What?!” she finally brings out.

“You have to come to the premier with me,” he repeats another time.

It still sounds too surreal to sink into her system yet, though.

“I _heard_ you, I just don’t understand what devil possesses you to even _think_ that I would ever accompany you to such a gathering. Are you out of your mind?” Brienne retorts, finally managing to gather her wits again.

“Look, I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t in a tight spot…,” he goes on.

“That’s nice of you to say,” she huffs.

“You know how I mean it, wench, so stop mimicking the hurt one now. You don’t want to go, _that’s_ why I usually wouldn’t turn to you, but I need your help,” he retorts.

“Can’t you just go with one of your colleagues from the show? Or some chick you hooked up at a bar? Why _me_ of all people?” Brienne grunts, leaning her head back on the couch, the damp clothes sticking to her skin now feeling like a straitjacket.

“Because I don't want to spend my time dismantling the argument that I am now in a relationship with whatever chick I may have hooked up somewhere for the sole sake of not appearing there alone. The crazy rumors regarding my relationship status just won’t wear down. That’s hurtful to my reputation, you know that. I don’t need the news all over me again, like it’s still going on with Cersei,” Jaime explains.

“Yeah, that is not… good,” Brienne wrinkles her nose.

The rumor kept – and still keeps – spreading that Jaime and his twin sister Cersei were in a love relationship, based on some piece of information from their youth days, when they were seen kissing or whatever else it was. Brienne never asked for clarification – because it was none of her business. As far as she knows, however, Jaime got the advice from his manager to “stay bachelor” for the people to see for a while, at least until the rumors died out.

Seemingly, those rumors are hard to kill, however.

“See? And _that’s_ why I need you. It's out in the world that we are friends, or frenemies, whatever it is that you want to call it. No one’s going to ask questions if I take you to the premiere. You’re perfect for that occasion,” Jaime goes on to explain.

 _Perfect_ _for that occasion_.

He really should be glad that Brienne knows that this is something he doesn’t mean in an offensive way. There was a time, in the early beginning, when she took everything he said for what it was, and that made any interaction with Jaime a thing of impossibility almost. Until Brienne understood that he didn’t always mean things seriously – and Jaime, at the same time, had to get used to the idea of slowing it down when talking to her. In that way, they found a common ground that made a solid friendship possible.

At some point Brienne still fails to figure how she ever agreed to that unwritten contract of Jaime acting less like an asshole when around her while she agreed to accepting that he is an asshole every once in a while – but doesn’t mean most of the things he says. Without a doubt, the friendship she developed with Jaime is one of the most curious relationships she’s ever had in her entire life, which is ever the more a reason why most people don’t understand them.

Not that this is anything new to Brienne, however.

“There is a hole in your logic, however, and that is that I care about your reputation,” Brienne teases.

While she learned not to take offense in every of his statements, she also learned that one of the best ways to make him quit is to tease him about it.

Yet another thing that she never did or dared to do with other people – and in fact still doesn't dare to. Jaime is the only one she dares to talk to in such a way, probably because he is a bastard and he always knows it as a tease.

That makes things a lot easier for Brienne, in fact. She used to fear all the while that whenever she attempted to speak up, or make a joke, people would automatically assume that she’s really meant it – because she is such an “honest” and “trustworthy” person that most seem to think she is incapable of both being fun and up for a jest. With Jaime, or so he learned, there were no such expectations. He always understood her teases and jests as teases and jests. He never felt offended, and he even laughs at her jokes, however clumsy they come out.

So yes, it does have its merits to have a bastard for a friend – you can be at your worse around him and he won’t mind.

“You have to help me, woman.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay, I hoped that I wouldn’t have to use it, but: Oath…,” he goes on, but she cuts him off harshly, “Oh, shut up!”

“You know that I still have one open, so now I call in the favor,” Jaime goes on, and she would love to get in the car, drive up to his loft, and punch him in the face. She can hear his smile again – and it still drives her crazy.

“That is not fair,” she can’t help but pout.

Yet another thing she doesn’t do when around other people. Brienne usually never complains openly to other people that she doesn’t like or want to do something. With Jaime… she can. He does that all the while as well, so she feels more comfortable letting on her frustration when around him.

“On the contrary, I earned myself that right fair and square. You said so yourself back after the Kingswood incident. So you will accompany me to that premiere,” he replies triumphantly.

And _that_ makes it ever the more worse.

That this is a victory for him.

The worst is not to lose, but to know that Jaime feels like the winner.

“Why did you even bother to try to convince me if you had intention to call me upon the Oathkeeper anyways?” Brienne can’t help but ask.

“Because I dared to hope that you, as a friend of mine, would support me, foolishly, or so it seems,” he tells her in an overly dramatic voice.

“If your acting skills are that bad, then I know why you only get yourself secondary roles in Indie movies where you have to shoot naked scenes in…,” she means to say, but he is quick enough to interrupt her, “My acting skills are not up to discussion, m’lady. This is about you accompanying me to that specific event. And you will have to go, whether you go on pouting like a child now or not. You said that you owe me. I am merely calling you upon a solemn vow you made, but well, if it doesn’t matter to you anymore…”

“Oh, whatever,” she snorts.

“Evening wear is required,” he goes on with an easy smile she can hear again.

“I hate you,” Brienne grumbles, leaning her head back again.

This is ridiculous.

Now she knows he also does that for a tease.

He knows what she looks like, by the Seven.

But a promise is a promise, even if it was given to a bastard of a man who seems to bring out the worst in her.

“You won’t have to concern yourself with any preparations. You’ll get the clothes and… everything else delivered right to your door. So you just have to put it on and have to… you just have to be there, pretty much. That should be easy enough unless you try to hide under the bed or something. Oh yes, and it’d be most kind of you if you found it in yourself to unpack your oh so rare smile when on the red carpet,” he goes on.

“What does it matter if I smile or not?” Brienne mutters angrily, her lips curling into a frown.

“I’d just like to not have you sulking this whole evening, dearest. So, watch a comedy or one of the documentaries on medieval weapons that you are so fond of and are probably off to watching tonight as well, whatever it is that it takes to make you flash that very nice smile I know you can display if you want to. Can we agree on that?” Jaime questions.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Brienne replies in a flat voice, for some reason she can’t explain finding her cheeks heated. Maybe the air conditioning is broken again?

“Splendid. I suppose it’ll be Margaery who’ll have the garment and other things delivered to you. She should come by on Friday around noon, for the fitting. Then I’ll come pick you up in the evening – and you’ll have to pretend that you can actually act like a normal human being, but I lowered my expectations regarding the matter anyways, so no worries,” he teases her.

Margaery is currently one of the highest demanded costume designers in entire Westeros. Jaime knows her through work, and Brienne knows her as well, because of Renly.

“Don’t enjoy yourself too much. Or else I will turn you down anyway,” Brienne warns him.

“Do I have to remind you of the Oathkeeper?” Jaime replies.

“No, but I rather take an Oathbreaker than let you make a fool of myself,” Brienne huffs.

“I swear by the Seven and the Old Gods and the New… and whatever other deity roaming around… that I will act civilly for as long as you act civilly. It’ll be a nice evening with fancy drink, fancy food, and fancy clothes. No big deal, well, except for the cameras and the reporters and the interviews, but those are _minor_ things,” Jaime chuckles.

“You do not expect me to be talking to those folks, do you?” Brienne asks, her eyes suddenly growing wide at the realization.

He can’t mean for that, can he?

He knows her. He should know her.

She doesn’t talk to other people. She already has a problem to talk to strangers to ask for the directions.

“Well, if someone asks you a question, politeness would have it that you answer, in case you didn’t know,” he teases, but she interrupts him in a shrill voice, “Jaime!”

“I will try my best that they will not – but I can’t make any guarantees, let’s leave it at that, okay?” Jaime replies, now sounding almost apologetic.

“… Wait, you mean… I will have my picture taken by… and…,” Brienne mutters as suddenly the whole extent of Jaime’s plan comes raining down on her.

She will be at an official event. With cameras. And people. Staring. Looking. Laughing. She will be in clothes that will look ridiculous on her – as does everything she wears. Next to Jaime who looks like he was cut out of a magazine. And people will see that. Look. Laugh. And take pictures. With cameras. And they might ask questions. When she wears clothes that…

“Videos, and it’ll probably broadcasted on multiple channels because the film is not that unpopular, yes,” Jaime completes. “On, and the internet, of course.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Brienne mutters, clutching her stomach.

“You’re overreacting,” Jaime huffs.

“You are over-demanding,” she corrects him.

“I was to such events before, it’s all fun and easy-going, trust me in this,” he now tries to assure her, seemingly growing conscious of the fact that Brienne is serious about possibly being sick over the matter. “After some time, you don’t even realize the cameras anymore. It’s one walk over the red carpet, after that, we’ll watch the movie and have food and the like. It’s not at all that bad.”

“You can say so because you are an actor. You are used to that!” Brienne insists.

“Will you do it?” he asks, now in a more serious voice. Brienne licks her lips, calling to mind that she made that promise to him and that she does owe him for it to this day.

And promises matter.

More than stupid cameras and fancy clothes and red carpets.

She is a creature of ridicule anyways, so what does it matter, right?

 _Right_?

“Yeah, yeah, but if you dare complain about my looks or whatever else just one damn time, I swear by the Seven, you’ll regret this day,” Brienne warns him, hugging her arms.

“Nothing of the like. I’ll be a complete gentleman,” Jaime tells her. “I promise.”

“ _That_ I wanna see,” she huffs.

Jaime is about as chivalrous as Tyrion is tall.

“You will, you will. Just like you will enjoy yourself by the end of the evening, I’m sure of it,” he says, and she can hear that smile again.

“And I’m sure of it that this won’t be the case. You owe me for this, big time, Lannister,” Brienne warns him.

“Jaime.”

“ _Jaime_ ,” she rolls her eyes. She used to refer to him by his last name in the initial time for a long while, to show him the distance she meant to put between them. He called her ‘wench’ all the while (and still does), but once they started to befriend it dawned on her that it was really a matter of heart to him that she referred to him by his first name. From Tyrion, she later on learned that he got the nickname Kingslayer in his younger yeras – and that Jaime hated it so much that this is one of the few weak points you can detect in his otherwise shiny and perfect golden armor behind which he hides all the things he actually means, feels, and thinks, an armor that Brienne, if at all, ever got to take the helmet off from thus far.

“So, are you going to watch that documentary or what?”

“What if I did?”

“You know that you are damn predictable, right?”

“Structured,” she corrects him. “I like it when things are in order.”

“Some chaos would do you good every once in a while,” he argues.

“For that I have you, don’t I?” she snorts. This time, the silence comes from the other end of the line, and Brienne, for a moment, doesn’t know what to think of it.

“… And anyways, I damn well know that you watch it as well. You always know the airing hours,” Brienne adds in a hurry.

“That may be, but you follow a very strict routine leading up to the event of watching that show. You come home, after training. You toss your things into the bedroom. You go through the mail. Then you grab a shower or bath, depends on the time, to then sit on the couch, still toweling your hair to then watch that show. Oh yeah, and at some point you drink that awful juice,” he argues, and Brienne can hear the wicked smirk on his lips again.

How does he know these kinds of things, though? Sure, they are over at each other’s apartments regularly after training, and it may have been a few times that she followed through that routine while he was there, but…

“Wrong.”

“Right, we both know it. I dare you send me a pic of you right now, to confirm me in my suspicion. I go one step further and say the worn pepper and salt tank top with the Tarth sigil on the lapel.”

“I won’t send you any pictures. Are you mad?”

“That means you wear it.”

“No, I don’t.”

She _does_ , but what does he have to know?

“Accept it already. I know you inside-out.”

“You wish.”

In fact, she wished she knew him about as well as he knows her, or at least seems to know her. He can read her even when she doesn’t let on. And at some point Brienne is still scared of that, but at the same time it makes her envious that she can’t do the same with Jaime, no matter what she tries. At some point he remains that unpredictable entity in her life, the Rubik’s Cube she can’t solve.

“Something remains the truth even if you don't accept it, you know?” he teases.

“Just that it isn’t the truth.”

“You are a terrible liar, you know that, right?”

“If you don’t want me to do anything within my powers to screw up the premiere for you, you should stop right there,” she warns him in a serious tone.

“Oh, oh, oh! Is m’lady into threatening me now? I get to know new sides of you every once in a while after all. But it’s all empty threats anyways – you are incapable of these kinds of things.”

“You bring out the worse in me, as I said, so maybe that, too?”

“Hm, that’d be interesting to find out. And I will, on Friday. So off you are to watching your documentary and your disgusting juice. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Brienne tosses the phone on the couch, drawing her knees to her chest angrily as she extends her hand to grab the remote to switch to where the documentary will be shown, but then stops for a moment. If only to defy him, she should probably watch another show. Brienne sucks her lower lip into her mouth, letting out the smallest of hisses.

“I don’t do this because he’s said it,” she reminds herself. “Lucky shot, no more.”

“… Damn you.”

“… I’m going to a premiere.”

“DAMN.”


	2. Red Carpet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driving to the red carpet. 
> 
> Arriving at the red carpet.
> 
> Cameras. 
> 
> Newsflashes.
> 
> ... and other complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around! ♥
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well :)

“I will kill him, easy as that. I will kill him, bring his body down Eel Alley and leave it there to rot. That’s it,” Brienne keeps muttering as she paces through her bedroom, her shoulders tight to the point that she fears they will come out of their sockets. She stops in front of the mirror to stare at her own reflection another time. What devil possessed Margaery and Jaime for picking out such a garment? She dared to hope that he’d give her some fancy looking suit, but no, of course…

“A bloody dress. With cleavage. And jewelry. You’re going to regret this, Lannister. Oh, the Seven may protect you once we are back in the gym. I will rip you a new one… and now I’m talking to myself, way to go, Brienne, way to go. Not at all awkward!”

That is when the doorbell rings. Brienne whirls around, almost losing her footing in the bloody high heels – as if there was any point in giving her high heels, she’s freakish tall anyways, what were Margaery and Jaime thinking, _again_? She catches herself, though, and quickly proceeds to the door and opens, to reveal all of what she expected – a Jaime Lannister you could cut out of a magazine, hair perfectly styled, gelled back, beard neatly trimmed, wearing a pricey black suit with leather applications, crisp white shirt and navy blue skinny tie.

His eyes fall on her, his mouth flexing in a sort of grimace she fails to read – since she fully expected him to flash his snarky grin and bombard her with comments about her awful appearance and how he’s never thought it possible to see her of all people in a dress.

“What?” she blurts out saying.

“I, uhm… sorry, I was… Doesn’t matter. I see that you actually put on Margaery’s choice?” he replies, and for a moment Brienne dares to believe that he is about as nervous as she is, but then she reminds herself that this is Jaime.

And Jaime is never nervous.

“Now you don’t mean to tell me that I would have been allowed to wear something else, do you?” she gapes at him.

He can’t mean that, right?

“No, evening wear’s required. I told you. I’m just glad you didn’t play the bullheaded one again and shredded Margaery’s dress in favor of… some camouflage pants and a worn shirt with holes in it,” Jaime tells her.

“Because I totally would have,” she rolls her eyes.

“Do I have to remind you of that family dinner I invited you to?” he chuckles.

“You didn’t say ‘dinner’, you said ‘party’. I didn’t know your clan. You said it was outside, and I didn’t know that this required me to show up with a stupid dress. I thought this was casual. _You_ are to blame for not giving me all required information,” Brienne pouts.

“In either case, I’m glad you stuck to the rules for once,” Jaime grins. Brienne licks her lips, hating the suety taste of the lipstick.

“Before we go, we have to get over something, though,” Brienne declares.

“And what would that be?”

“You better laugh it up right now. It won’t look good in the picture if you keep having laugh flashes,” Brienne says, gesticulating.

 _Let it wash over you_ – something she’s told herself since the boys back on Tarth started calling her names and she was too weak and shy to fight back (which was before she learned how to fight with her fists… and feet). At some point the childish mantra then became a strange kind of guideline to call to mind during moments such as these.

“Nothing to laugh up about,” he says simply, which leaves Brienne blinking at him, “I beg your pardon?”

“… Blue’s a good color on you, is all I’m saying. You should wear that more often. It suits you,” he replies. The words linger in the air like the overly expensive perfume Margaery gave her to put on for the premiere, scatter around like jolted birds.

Jaime is not acting like his usual self.

Or well, he is probably just having some more fun at her expenses. He likes that sort of thing. And tonight is probably an even bigger event for him because he gets to see Brienne squirming and sweating nervously… with audience.

He knows how to make her – and she hates him for it.

But now that she looks at him, he looks almost sheepish.

But leave it to Jaime Lannister to pull that off – he is an actor after all, right? It’s his job to be able to sell such expressions.

“We… we should get going, the driver’s waiting and actually impatient, even though he gets paid for just that,” he adds, and again, Brienne can’t help but think that he really does seem nervous.

Brienne’s jaw drops for a moment, but then gathers herself again. He probably didn’t mean it like that.

He never does.

That’s part of the unwritten contract.

That he doesn’t mean it and that she doesn’t take things too seriously.

She snaps out of the thought at once, however, grabs that useless silver clutch that Margaery insisted she was supposed to take instead of her favorite brown leather shoulder bag because… Brienne mentally blurted out at the second Margaery listed the reasons that made this glittery… piece of cloth much more appropriate for this occasion despite the very obvious fact that it has zero use, zero space to hold anything other than the suety lipstick – and Brienne has no intention to spend any more time on that stupid make-up than she did anyways…

“Did you forget something?” he asks. Brienne whirls her head around, “No, ugh… just… I just remembered something. Let’s just get over with this.”

“You don’t even _try_ to sound enthusiastic, do you?” he huffs, amused.

“That was not part of the deal,” she reminds him. Jaime chuckles to himself as he exits, holding the door open for Brienne in a rather dramatic manner, to which she rolls her eyes yet again.

Brienne knows she shouldn’t be surprised by the fancy limousine, but she still finds herself impressed for a moment. Yet, Brienne nearly throws a tantrum when she tries to maneuver her tall body into the car, which is way too low, and all that with high heels and a stupid long dress. The blonde woman almost lets out a shriek once she feels a hand on the dress, only to realize that Jaime helps to hold it so that it doesn’t entangle itself any further.

“Thanks,” she mutter begrudgingly. He only winks at her before closing the door and getting in on the other side.

“Remind me again what that movie’s called?” Brienne asks nervously, trying to focus on what is to come. If what Jaime implied is true, she may have to answer questions. So she should know at least the key data to make not the absolutely greatest fool of herself.

“ _The Long Night_.”

“What’s the movie about?” she asks.

Brienne fares better if she can mentally brace herself for the situation. Knowing facts means tiny bits of certainty, and she needs a lot of certainty – because the satin blue dress ripped everything else away from her.

“You’ll watch it, you know?” he snorts, amused.

“Just give me the basic information already,” Brienne rolls her eyes, folding her arms over her flat chest.

… She is still glad that she could take Margaery out of the “taping” and whatever else it is that people do to make the cleavage appear _more womanly_.

“It’s set in a fictional world where it’s either summer or winter. The winters are unforgiving, cold, mysterious, dark. Creatures from the former days are rumored to roam around during the season, though no one has ever survived to tell so for certain. The good-looking, charming protagonist, who happens to be me, is actually the anti-hero of that tale. He did some questionable things in the past. No one likes him. No one trusts him. No one wants him. So they send him away on some mission they are sure he won’t succeed in, to get him out of the way. But… things take a different turn from there,” Jaime explains with a smile.

“What’s the character’s name?” Brienne asks, trying not to give away that she finds the premise of that story quite interesting.

“Lan.”

“As in wireless-LAN?” she makes a face.

“That was almost funny right there,” he chuckles softly.

Really, only Jaime would ever laugh at her not-funny jokes.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Brienne asks, wrapping her big hands tighter around the stupid clutch – and it is at this moment that it dawns on her that the name is actually true in that she clutches it so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

Why did she ever agree to this?

“Not really,” he shrugs.

Brienne somehow had dared to hope that this would reassure her more than it does. Because… it actually doesn’t reassure her at all.

She still feels a strong urge to jump out of the driving car.

“I do wonder, did you ever watch one of the shows or movies I starred in?” Jaime asks, pulling Brienne out of her thoughts.

“Why?” she asks, snapping her head back around to him.

“I just wonder,” she shrugs.

“ _Why_?” Brienne insists.

“Well, you are the one person who’s always going to criticize me without mincing words,” Jaime tells her, which only leaves her frowning once more, “So?”

“That means you are the only person I know and trust not to tell me shit about my performance,” he goes on to explain.

Jaime is really acting queer tonight. Brienne can’t put her finger on it, but something is off.

“What does it matter what _I_ think of your performance? I have zero knowledge of the matter. My opinion is not objective,” Brienne argues.

“But it’s no lie,” he argues, suddenly very serious in his tone.

“Why are you asking me such things all of a sudden?” Brienne questions, somewhat flustered.

She is used to him jesting and making comments. To have Jaime talking seriously is outlandish – because then she thinks he means something, but has no clue if he does after all.

That man is a constant confusion for her.

Does he mean it?

Doesn’t he?

What does it mean if he means it and what does it mean if he doesn’t?

And what does it matter anyways?

“Well, Cersei keeps saying that I’m good in whatever movie I play in – because she is seemingly convinced that it’s only because of my looks or so, but I know as a matter of fact that she, at best, watched that thing in passing. Preferably over a glass of wine, or a bottle,” he huffs. “Tyrion likes to tease me about it because we both know how much of a disgrace such a profession is to Father. He likes to rip every damn movie to shreds because of the plot or the scenery or because you can see where they used CGI effects. We never speak about… my parts.”

While Brienne only saw Tywin once or twice, and didn’t talk to him at all, Tyrion and Jaime gave her some faint idea about the man. Tyrion told her that Tywin was more than outraged to find out that Jaime sought out a career as an actor instead of choosing a profession for the family company – and actually followed through with it all the way.

These days, he seems to be somewhat calm about it because Jaime also does modelling jobs that they can make use of for the company, just like Jaime’s popularity is helpful for their PR, or so Tyrion said.

And to tell the truth, Brienne’s always admired Jaime for it. There are quite a few who give in to such pressure. She herself was more than tempted to do what her father would have wanted of her. Just like she took her time to realize what she even wanted for a job, or a life more generally – because she wanted to please everyone.

“You have critics, don’t you? They give you feedback,” Brienne argues uncertainly.

“And they get paid. That either means it’s white-washed or they want to make it a scandal. It’s the same folks that keep spreading the rumors about Cersei and me. Am I supposed to give a bat’s shit on that, you tell me?” he argues.

“Okay…,” Brienne breathes, not knowing how to reply to that.

She never even thought about that, to be honest.

“You and I both know that you are the only friend I’ve managed to keep over the years,” he goes on. 

“There’s Bronn,” Brienne argues, tilting her head.

Why is the car so hot? She feels like she is melting, merging with the leather of the seat.

“Bronn is Tyrion’s friend foremost. And he is way too much like Tyrion anyways. And if he doesn't feel like it, he is gone and away. So yeah, you are the only friend I have to tell me if I sucked in a movie or not,” Jaime replies. “And that’s why your opinion… is actually one of the few that matter.”

“… You never said something in that direction before,” Brienne can’t help but remark.

Why does he blurt out with something like that on such an occasion? Couldn’t he choose… _any_ other day that doesn’t leave her exposed, in a stupid blue dress and with suety lipstick on her lips that seems to seal them when she actually wants to speak.

“I continuously ask you if you’ve seen the newest movie or show I was part of, and you always say that you did not and will not,” Jaime argues sternly, with a bit of blame in his voice.

“Because you want to boast about it – and I’m not up for that,” Brienne huffs.

He won’t play the blame-game here, not tonight.

“See? _That_ is the thing. You _thought_ I was going to boast about it. But did you _know_ for certain?” he then asks in the kind of voice that comes as a total surprise for Brienne.

She thought he would be laughing and smiling and making jokes at her expenses, not start a serious conversation.

They never have serious conversations in the first place.

“You did that the first five times you’ve asked me for it. I think it’s then safe to assume it being a habit,” Brienne replies.

“Habits change, you know, or rather, _people_ can change,” he says in a quieter voice, glancing out the car window for a moment.

Is he sad, really?

If only Brienne could tell for certain.

“And some don’t. You are incorrigible, I accepted that, just like you and I both know that I’m the same,” Brienne argues.

Isn’t that one of the unifying features of their friendship? That they accepted the fact that they can’t change the other – and don’t even try to? That they accept each other for who they are?

“Right,” he snorts.

“What now? Are you going to be pissed off for the rest of the evening now or what’s the matter?” Brienne can’t help but say.

 _He_ is not the one forced to do something that’s against his very nature. She dared to hope that he’d at least make some effort to encourage her, and not to push her in the role of having to encourage him in turn.

That was _definitely_ not part of the deal.

“As if, wench,” Jaime huffs.

“You won’t call me that once we exit the car, or else I will smack you in front of the entire audience,” Brienne warns him.

“I know how to behave in public, that’s part of my job,” Jaime rolls his eyes.

“Sometimes I wished some of that work ethic carried over into your personal life as well,” Brienne fumes, hugging her arms, even if she feels hot – and not cold.

But that gives her security for some odd reason.  

“I keep work and personal life strictly apart. I pretend to be someone else during my job enough. I think it’s just fair that I get to be who I am when the cameras are out,” Jaime replies, and again, it seems like he is really offended.

He is usually never offended.

What is going on here?

“Just don’t call me ‘wench’,” Brienne insists stubbornly.

“For as long as you keep saying ‘Jaime’ and not ‘Lannister’, we should be good to go,” he shrugs his shoulders.

“This is a nightmare,” Brienne leans her head back.

She knew this was a bad idea.

Now it seems like they will argue for the rest of the night, and that is then mingled with going to a premiere, with cameras and people staring at her… in that bloody dress!

Those are the Seven Hells, she is sure of it.

“You are driving in a fancy limousine, wear a pricey dress, even pricier jewelry, are going to be in magazines and newspapers and online articles, have five-star food, meet celebrities and feel like a star. You know, most people actually dream of these kinds of things for all their lives,” Jaime points out to her.

“Well, I’m not most other people,” Brienne huffs. “As you should know.”

“That I know, but sometimes I do wonder what it’d take to make you happy about something,” he says in a quieter voice that leaves Brienne swaying again.

Does he really mean that?

“I like to train. I like my job. I like my life the way it is with the people in it. I don’t need red carpets and the like as matters of fulfilment. And I still don’t see how it’s favorable to have one’s privacy constantly violated by people who, most of the time, actually want you harm by discovering one of your darkest secrets to sell at a good price. Isn’t that the entire reason why I’m here right now? Because this keeps happening to you?” Brienne replies.

After all, as he said, she is “perfect for that occasion” to defuse the arguments that persist about him and Cersei.

“You take the fun out of things,” he exhales with a weary smile.

“I just don’t know why you put up with that. I don’t know if I’d do it,” Brienne argues.

Because she really doesn’t.

“That’s because I apparently like my job enough to see past that. You accept to be bruised all over from training, too, don’t you? Because you love to train,” Jaime explains. “Doing the things you love often means sacrifice. That sucks, but… that’s the way it is, I suppose.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Brienne can’t help but ask.

He is really acting different from his usual self.

He blinks at her, his features flexing, but then he puts on his cocky smile, which seems unnaturally hollow right now, “I won’t be the one who’s about to hurl out of anxiety of having my picture taken.”

“Way to motivate someone whom you ‘need’ to function tonight,” Brienne snorts.

“Piety is none of my most prominent features,” he exhales.

“Newsflash,” she huffs.

“Speaking of flash…”

Brienne’s heart almost stops once she realizes that the car has stopped, and that lights flash from the other side. Cameras. People. People with cameras.

“No, no, no.”

Abort the mission!

“ _Yes, yes, yes_. The longer you wait, the more attention you get. I will get out of the car first and lend you a hand,” Jaime argues, his voice way too calm to her liking.

“I don’t need your help,” Brienne replies almost automatically.

“That still doesn’t mean you cannot accept it,” he points out to her.

With that he opens the door and the white flashes of light creep their way into the limousine.

And while Brienne wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, Jaime’s hand reaching back inside to help her out of the car is the only thing that gives her a faint shimmer of security at this very second. She clutches on to his hand more desperately than she should.

And more desperately than she usually would.

She won’t ever see the end of it, but at this point, Brienne cannot even care.

She is too scared.

Once Brienne is out of the car, she feels like she is drowning in the flashes of white light. And all Brienne wants to do is to jump back into the car and tell the driver to speed away the fastest he can.

“This was such a bad idea.”

But Jaime doesn’t let go of her wrist until she stands next to him, either sensing that she is that close to running off, or just being up for a tease again, she doesn’t know. She just knows that eventually, his hand lets go of her wrist, and then rests on her back, on the space where the shoulder blades end. The touch is almost not there, but still firm as he guides her further down the red carpet.

Brienne can feel the gooseflesh all over her body – and prays to the Seven that Jaime doesn’t realize.

This is not right.

She is not the person to stand in the spotlight.

What was Jaime thinking?

And what was she thinking for ever agreeing to this in the first place?

She dares to steal a glance at Jaime, who couldn’t be any more relaxed than he is at this very second, judging by his posture, and the godforsaken beautiful smile that she just wants to punch out of his handsome face right now.

She can hear people yelling his name, begging him to come closer for an interview, and Brienne is more than tempted to tell him to stay right where he is, but she doesn’t, in fact she can’t. Her mouth doesn’t move, only her feet do as he guides her over to the interviewers.

Brienne sends another silent prayer to the Seven that they may spare her more shame.

“… How are you, Sir?” one of the interviewers asks.

“Splendid, thank you. How are you?” Jaime replies casually, smiling into the camera, offering a wink here and there.

He makes it seem so effortless – while Brienne has to make any effort not to just run away and hide behind one of the limousines.

“Good, thanks. I’m here for _The Raven_. Can I ask you some questions for our magazine?”

“Sure you can, I just can’t guarantee that I will always come up with the right answer,” she can hear Jaime say. Brienne blinks.

His voice sounds so different from the one she knows. Brienne can’t even pinpoint what it is that’s so queer about it, but when he makes those sarcastic comments when around her, they seem… different… _are_ different.

As though the voice he uses on her and the voice he uses in public belong to two different people.

“Concerning the latest rumors published by the _Northern Telegraph_ , you and your sister…”

“Ah, see, here we have one of those questions that I fear I can’t give you a satisfactory answer to, sorry to disappoint you, but I did warn you in advance,” Jaime replies with an easy smile, though Brienne can tell that this is not easy. She can feel his hand flexing against her back, earning her yet another shiver.

Stupid dress with a way too lowly cut-out back.

“Is there anything else you want to ask in that direction? Because then I fear I have to move on. It’d be a pity not to give any satisfactory answers at all, right?” Jaime goes on, smiling brightly – though everyone knows this is an actual threat.

“No, no, it’s… Who is your plus one tonight?” the man asks instead, seemingly having gotten the message.

“This is Brienne of Tarth,” Jaime declares, pushing her a bit closer, and Brienne finds herself trying to somehow maintain as much distance as possible, bending her body back, probably looking like a longbow, but she is past the point to care.

“Judging by your name, are you of royal blood by any chance, ma’am?” the man with the black microphone asks, holding the stick closer to her face – to the point that Brienne has to suppress any urge to just smack the thing like a mosquito.

“I… uhm…,” she stammers.

Why doesn’t her brain operate right now?

This is easy enough.

This is not even about Jaime or the movie or vital information.

This is about her name!

Seven Hells.

“She _does_ have royal ancestors. Tarth is an old royal house in the Stormlands, if not one of the oldest,” Jaime jumps in, his voice calm and even. “While I don’t know exactly, there are good chances the Tarths go about as far back as does the Lannister clan. And that surely means something.”

“And in what relationship do you two stand?” the reporter then asks, and Brienne can’t help but gape.

She thought they’d ask about him and Cersei.

It never dawned on her that they’d assume that she and Jaime…

Are people crazy?

“In a very good one. Aren’t we going to talk about the movie?” Jaime argues, feigning confusion. “Because I thought this was actually the main purpose of this event?”

She has to give him that much, he really knows how to act.

“Did you already see anything of the movie, ma’am?” the reporter asks.

Why does he keep asking her questions?!

“I did… not. I am… I’m looking forward to seeing it tonight, though,” Brienne finally manages to say, her jaws merely moving apart.

“We didn’t want to spoil the surprise,” Jaime adds.

“How did you get to know each other?”

“I don’t think that this was part of the movie, and I should know, I’ve been casted as the protagonist,” Jaime huffs. “Well, it was nice talking to you, Sir.”

He moves further down the line of reporters and photographers as if nothing ever happened, and Brienne still has no clue what to make of any of this.

Most of the time, Jaime manages to bypass it that Brienne has to say more than ‘hello’ and her name, but sometimes it’s not done with that. Actually, _most of the time_ it’s not done with that. People keep asking about her relationship to Jaime, and try to poke holes into him about him and Cersei. It amazes Brienne how smoothly Jaime manages to maneuver out of each and every moment with a nice smile and a positive attitude.

If only he finally quitted making ambiguous implications in regards to their relationship, though.

Instead of stating the facts that they are just friends, he keeps saying that she is “a _very_ special friend”, “the one woman who’s put up with him over the last couple of years”, or his “rock”, as if he was trying to fuel the rumors about them now in turn, if only to lead away from that weird stuff about him and Cersei.

“Could you finally quit to make implications about you and I?” Brienne hisses in a low voice as they are ordered to take a step back for more photographs.

“What implications?” he asks innocently.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she mutters.

“You think too much. If you think too much, you make that awkward face again. Smile – or else _that’ll_ be the pic on the front page, and who’d want a sour-looking Amazon there, hm?” he replies with an easy smile. Brienne tries her best to keep up the façade, even if she is boiling right now.

“This was never part of the deal. I’m not here so you can make me your and Cersei’s shield,” Brienne mutters.

“Well, in fact that was not my intention,” he replies, before calling out louder. “Oh, it seems like we have to head inside. Last interview for now. First come, first serve. Oh, you over there seem to be the most eager.”

Jaime approaches the black-haired man. Brienne doesn’t even bother as the reporter runs through the same questions again. The microphone reads KLN, so King’s Landing News.

Brienne tries to think of the movie and the good things Jaime pointed out to her. The food and the atmosphere.

Maybe she is just being too harsh on him and should really try to loosen up some.

Maybe it won’t be the almost bad anymore once she starts considering it… not the worst?

Ugh, she hates this.

Positive thinking.

Yuck.

“… Well, if you _must_ know, yes, I brought my girlfriend with me tonight…”

Brienne’s mouth falls open as a small uproar goes through the rows of reporters and photographers, until they disappear behind a wall of white flashes of light, momentarily blinding Brienne.

Jaime didn’t, did he?

And she can’t punch him right now because that’s nothing she’d risk to have all over the papers.

Why did he?

How?

She really will have to kill him, or so it seems.

Seven Hells!


	3. After the Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne if furious - and refuses to talk, no matter what Jaime tries. 
> 
> Well, leave it to Jaime Lannister to try to make her nevertheless. 
> 
> Desperate times call for desperate measures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around. 
> 
> I hope you'll like this chapter.

Brienne still stands there, perplex.

She doesn’t even care if she looks utterly ridiculous in the pictures anymore.

But if that is supposed to be upside of the situation, the upside can go ahead screw itself.

“C’mon,” she can hear Jaime mutter.

Brienne finds herself pushed inside by him, but once the flashes are left behind the door for good, she overcomes her momentary stillness and pulls Jaime aside roughly, “What in the Seven Hells do you think was that?”

“What now?” he frowns at her, as though nothing happened.

And Brienne really has to control herself not to punch him right now – and break his nose.

“ _What now_? You said to the reporters that I am your _girlfriend_!” Brienne growls in a low voice, trying to keep the level quiet enough for others not to hear, but still threatening enough to let Jaime know that she would otherwise yell his name at the top of her voice.

“So?”

“ _So_? Jaime, stop playing stupid. Look, I was _kind of_ fine with coming along to help defuse the discussion about you and Cersei, but this is _definitely_ over the line. You can’t just go around and tell people such lies! Especially if you don’t even talk to me first! Do you have any idea in what spot that puts me now?” Brienne rambles, her mind already running through tomorrow’s possible headlines about the “Beauty and the Beast”, where paparazzi will pull out all those photographs of her looking mannish and awkward whilst walking next to Jaime down the street that they thought were worth nothing – and get a pretty good pay for garbage, articles asking questions how he’d ever come to choose Brienne of Tarth of all people, or have a large picture of her and Jaime on the front page, only to then have people praise him for setting up the “greatest joke of the evening”.

This is a nightmare.

Or no, a nightmare would mean she could wake up from it.

This is reality.

And _that_ is the nightmare.

“That people believe that you date one of the most wanted bachelors in King’s Landing?” he replies so damn relaxed that she wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him.

“Hey, this is serious!” Brienne barks.

“It sure is,” he replies, not even looking at her.

And Brienne really has no clue what devil must possess him right at this second, acting as though this meant nothing.

Or doesn’t it mean anything to him?

And why does she even bother?!

This is apocalyptic, whether he’s meant it or not!

“You know, for a moment I really thought you were taking that a bit seriously. That you didn’t just invite me because you wanted to mock me, but… I was seemingly mistaken yet again,” Brienne growls.

“ _Mock you_? Is the idea that _I_ ’d date you so laughable?” he argues.

He can’t mean that, can he?

Even now, even now he can’t stop joking.

“What’s _laughable_ is that you tell people such lies – and that you’ll later on reveal it as a joke, and then the joke’s on _me_. That’s what’s laughable, Jaime. _Great_ joke.”

So much to how he can act like a gentleman if he wants to.

It all depends on the fact _if_ he wants to.

And tonight doesn’t seem to be the night Jaime wants to prove that he can be a gentleman.

“That’s not…,” he means to say, but Brienne is beyond fed up, so she cuts him off harshly, “I don’t care. We should get inside. The show’s about to start, isn’t it?”

“We could also talk…,” Jaime tries once more, but Brienne is really done, “I am only still here because I don’t chicken out of my promises. But in all sincerity, I’m done talking to you right now. And if you don’t want me to make a scene, you will shut your mouth.”

Brienne stomps ahead, not even caring to look at Jaime, who apparently catches up to her moments later.

If not for the Oathkeeper promise, she’d be out of this place by now.

If only he hadn’t saved her back in the Kingswood.

If only he wasn’t supposed to be her best friend, the person who should know her by now, and that she isn’t into these things.

But… Jaime did. He saved her back in the Kingswood, on that hiking trip.

And she knows that Jaime never means what he says.

They have that unwritten contract after all.

But sometimes, it’s so damn hard to stick to it, especially if he is acting like that.

They enter the spacious screening room – and Brienne probably would have marveled at it, if she wasn’t as angry as she is.

No, angry is not strong enough.

Furious.

Wrathful.

Yes, wrathful.

They sit down on their assigned seats, and for a moment Brienne feels the strong urge to ask around if someone wants to switch places with her, but then decides against it.

The more of a fuss she makes of the situation, the worse it will get.

So she sits down, purses her lips, and fixes her eyes on the still empty screen, shutting out the rest of the world.

What follows is silence – and Brienne feeling as though electrocuted when she can feel Jaime’s arm brushing against hers, or when she feels his emerald eyes on her.

This just isn’t fair. Why does he get to act all casual when he is the one who screwed up?

Sometimes she really wished she had his sort of attitude. It seems to be such a solid shield.

Brienne simply tries her best to focus on the movie. After all, this is what the event is all about, right?

“Brienne.”

“No.”

“But…”

“I said ‘no’.”

“This is…”

“Just. Shut. Up.”

She never felt so relieved at seeing the opening credits for a movie.

The odd thing is that since she is so focused on the movie – in an attempt to not think of Jaime sitting next to her – she sees every detail, is so very attentive to this film, its scenery, its dialog.

… And the protagonist.

Brienne knows as a matter of fact that Jaime is a gifted actor. While he’d never know, she always watches his productions – Brienne just doesn’t let on to bypass boasting on his behalf. But tonight… it seems somewhat different. Perhaps it’s the big screen, maybe it's the atmosphere of the room, perhaps it’s her tunnel view, but whatever it is, Brienne finds herself lost in the vortex of Lan’s story, or rather, Jaime’s portrayal of Lan. The nuances with which he delivers his lines, his posture, the gestures, the mimic, the dramatic undertone, the fierceness of his expression…

And when he rescues the woman he started off hating at the risk of his own life because she is the one person he came to care about in this unforgiving world of the Long Night, it steals her breath away.

To her, the story is over all too fast, and Brienne finds herself clapping her hands to the point that her palms hurt.

The problem is that now the magic is over. The screen is white again, the room is lit – and suddenly, there is no longer Jaime portraying Lan, but just… Jaime, whom she could strangle right now.

Yeah, still wrathful.

“… Is this the end of the event now?” she asks coolly.

“No, there’s the after-show party next,” Jaime replies somewhat stiffly.

“ _Great_ ,” she snorts.

“Could we take some five minutes to talk about this?” he tries once more, his voice flat.

“I have to use the restroom, if you excused me,” Brienne replies, not know how else to escape him for at least a little time. She gets up stiffly and then hurries away, well, however fast she can hurry in high heels and that stupid blue dress that she’d just like to rip to shreds. Brienne finds the restroom quickly. Inside, three other women are working on their make-up, but once they see Brienne, their chatting changes in tune – and Brienne just _knows_ that they probably heard what Jaime said on the red carpet.

Trying to make themselves believe that this _beast_ is the woman Jaime introduced as his new girlfriend.

And that is why she thought he’d be more of a friend not to do that to her.

Now the people are talking.

Brienne does her best to ignore them as she walks past them to enter one of the stalls. She sits down on the closed toilet lid, letting out a shaky breath.

She is usually not the type to be emotional about these kinds of things, but right now, she honestly feels her last reserves leaving her. She feels exposed here. This is the kind of territory she always tried to stay away from, which proved to be hard enough with Jaime Lannister for a friend – and hence the entourage of reporters and paparazzi tailing him on a daily basis, and hence her as well whenever she is with him.

Brienne is used to gossip, just like she is used to people mocking her, but now a large number of people will soon be laughing at her – because Jaime had to make a stupid joke at her expenses by claiming her his girlfriend.

And it will be banned on papers and computers – and that’s just scary.

That this is her life now, thanks to Jaime Fuckin’ Lannister and his comment about her being his girlfriend.

 _As if_.

And now it’s even worse because what if people actually believe that kind of stuff? Brienne may be single at present, but she doesn’t want to be in a pseudo-relationship to keep herself from having relationships. And Jaime can’t mean to demand of her to play along for his and Cersei’s sake alone – and forego any chance of having a relationship, can he?

But she could probably live with that if it weren’t all mockery.

No matter if she manages to let it wash over her most of the time, it still damn well hurts.

That this is a joke.

That this is always the joke.

That _she_ is.

Maybe that’s why Jaime always laughs at her jokes… because she is a joke to him.

_Go Brienne! You and your people skills are one of a kind._

Brienne leans her head back, trying hard not to cry – because she feels the incredibly strong urge to do it, and that even though she usually never cries. Especially not for these things. What did Renly say to her? Right, that the nasty little shits don’t deserve her tears.

It’s just that she thought that Jaime was… apparently no nasty little shit.

She vaguely registers someone entering the bathroom, but is too busy trying to fight back the stinging sensation in the back of her eyes to notice that the person steps right up to her stall.

“Brienne?”

She jumps up from the seat slightly once she hears Jaime’s voice.

“This is the ladies’ bathroom!” she curses. “Get out!”

“Au contraire. Unisex bathrooms. The house is all up-to-date with the latest debates regarding the gender discussions, or well, tries to be,” he corrects her.

“Could you just go away?” Brienne finds herself say in a way too begging voice.

But she is exhausted, she is tired, and she is _that_ close to crying.

But she won’t cry in front of Jaime, that’s for sure.

This is not worth crying over, Gods dammit!

“Do you really have intentions to stay in the bathroom for the rest of the evening? Because I can assure you that the party is more interesting than four-ply toilet paper and this _awful_ mint color they chose for the tiles,” he jokes.

“Maybe I have? Who knows?” she grumbles, the prickling in her eyes still not wearing down.

“Well, that is a pity, but… we made more than one two-people parties work. Like New Year’s Eve last year in your apartment, with Chinese takeaway and watching _The Swords and the Rose_ in endless loop. Though the location is odd… maybe some toilet paper festoons here and…,” he whistles nonchalantly, but Brienne cuts him off. “The implication was…”

“I got the implication. I just choose to ignore it,” Jaime huffs.

“Most kind of you,” Brienne snorts.

Because that seems to be the thing: It doesn’t matter what she thinks, it’s only about what fits her purposes.

And Brienne really thought Jaime wouldn’t ever use her in such away.

Not Jaime.

But there seems to be first time for everything.

“Well, since you are now at least bound in one location, we might just as well talk about the matter,” Jaime offers. “You can’t tell me that you need to use the bathroom, so there’s no way for you to run away.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Brienne growls.

“But I do,” Jaime replies.

“I don’t want to listen,” Brienne goes on, not knowing what else to say.

“Well, get out of the stall, then you may have a chance. Though then again… you and I both know that I’m pretty good at wrestling people to the ground. And you are at a clear disadvantage because of the heels and the dress.”

“Just go away,” Brienne says, stressing each syllable, hugging her arms.

“You know you don’t get rid of me that easily. I’m a bloody parasite.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely nothing new.”

She can hear him leaning back to rest against the marble vanity.

“I just have that one question for you. Actually, it’s still the one I already asked you earlier on. You say I am the bad guy because I made a joke at your expenses. Did it ever occur to you that I may not be telling lies for once, though?” he questions in a serious voice.

She can’t hear his smile.

And that realization is about as chilling as are the words raining down on her.  

“We are _not_ together. That makes you stating that I am your girlfriend a _lie_. And _that_ makes me appear ridiculous – more than I am by nature,” she corrects him.

He can’t just twist the truth to how he wants it.

That’s not how it works.

“Is the idea that we two would be a relationship that utterly disgusting to you, or what’s the matter?” he argues, now sounding offended.

But he has no reason to feel offended, Seven Hells!

 _He_ screwed up!

 _He_ told lies. _In public_.

“This whole argument is obsolete because we are _not together_. And it _disgusts_ me that you, as my friend, seemingly don’t know me well enough to understand that I am not up to those kinds of games, or in what an awkward position that puts me,” Brienne retorts.

“What if this is no game?”

The question hangs in the air like the fake pine odor from the incense candles set by the sinks.

“It… it is a game because we are not together,” she stutters.

“But what if…,” Jaime means to say, but that is when a confused-looking woman comes inside.

“Why, hello there, ma’am. I’m having a discussion with my girlfriend, don’t mind us. All other stalls are free for you to use.”

“Jaime!” Brienne shrieks.

Again!

“She is very upset,” he goes on.

“JAIME!”

The woman turns around wordlessly and leaves again.

“Ha, that was easy enough.”

Brienne opens the door of the stall this time, “And now you tell me again with a straight face how this is _not_ a game to you – when you only used that five seconds ago to make the woman leave the bathroom – coupled with telling her the same lie from the red carpet, introducing me as your girlfriend. This _is_ a joke to you.”

And Brienne always thought that she was no joke to him.

Well, so much to her people-skills.

She doesn’t know how to read people, especially Jaime.

“This is no joke to me,” he insists.

“Then what the Seven Hells is it instead?” Brienne looks at him with wide eyes.

This makes no sense.

“On the red carpet, I said what I wanted.”

“The way you always do,” she snorts.

“No, you don’t understand. I said what I wanted this to be.”

“You are being ridiculous again,” Brienne shakes her head. She almost lets a yelp as Jaime approaches her with fast strides, smacking the flat of his hand against the stall, pinning Brienne between the stall and him.

“Could you, for a split second, take me seriously?” he growls – and for a moment, Brienne is honestly convinced that he suddenly stands taller than her, towers above her, even if he doesn’t. “I'm fed up with it that you always seem to think that whatever I say is a joke.”

“Because you always joke! You joke, I don’t take things too seriously, it’s… it’s what we do,” Brienne argues, her breath catching in her throat.

“I joke _most_ of the time, and probably more often than I should, but that doesn’t mean I don’t mean certain things the way I say them,” Jaime replies sternly.

“Okay, you know what? Let’s pretend, let’s _pretend_ that what you just said was all true. That you meant what you said. That you said ‘what you wanted’. That still doesn’t make it any better. That still means instead of talking to me, you just talked to random people. You know, if you want to inform people about your relationship status, the person you think is part of that relationship should know before other people, as a rule of thumb.”

Jaime looks at her for a long moment – and if Brienne is not mistaken… he is actually mulling over what she just said.

“… It was a kneejerk reaction,” Jaime tells her, his features somewhat softening for a moment.

“Oh, so you just jumped to the conclusion that you now wanted me to be your girlfriend for some reasons only the Seven will know, and instead of communicating that with me somehow, you just tell a mob of reporters who will rip that piece of information to shreds?” Brienne retorts. “That’s the thing that drives me crazy! This is the thing!”

Why is she even talking about those hypothetical scenarios?

There is no way in the world that Jaime would want her…

Brienne is… Brienne. Mannish, awkward, the freakish one.

“No? _The thing_ is that the day I wanted to ask you out on an _actual_ date was the very day this bomb with Cersei and me dropped. _The thing_ is that I had to cancel my plans of seeing you that day to have an emergency meeting with my manager to discuss the next steps. _The thing_ is that my management _strongly_ advised me to not see any other women in a while until they sounded out the situation. _The thing_ is that I henceforth had to act as if I never had the plan in the first place. _The thing_ is that no matter what I do, you always understand things in a certain way, and never the other. _The thing_ is that we still went on dates and that you believed them to e no dates…”

“What?”

“We go to restaurants, we work out together, we sleep over at each other’s apartments. I even have a friggin’ toothbrush in your apartment,” he points out to her.

“As. Friends,” Brienne insists stubbornly.

That can’t be true.

Jaime… Jaime wanted to date her?

Jaime doesn’t date people of the likes of her. He dates supermodels and gorgeous actresses.

What is he saying?

Where is the sly smile that she is now honestly waiting for?

“And _that_ is the other thing. The problem was that I couldn’t genuinely date you because that media avalanche rained down on Cersei and me. Had I told you right at that point that I wanted to date you in all sincerity, it may well be that we wouldn’t have been dating as ‘just friends’ anymore, for a long time,” Jaime replies sternly. “So that what I said on the red carpet would have been a straightforward, solid truth.”

Brienne doesn’t know what to say or think anymore.

There is just a blank, and his emerald eyes staring back at her.

“And believe it or not, I didn’t _plan_ on saying what I said on the red carpet. The stupid thing was that I apparently found myself in the odd position to have what is conventionally considered perhaps one of the most romantic things ever, all fancily dressed, to a premiere, with pictures taken, and you in that bloody blue dress that took my breath away, and that even though I am still not supposed to be dating officially. I didn’t _want_ it. The Seven know I didn’t want it! It just happened – and I am angry as hell that it did. That was not part of the plan.”

Brienne still just stands there, not knowing what to make of any of this.

“You know, my actual plan was to use this setting here to show you that I meant it – and come clean to you about how I wanted to date you in a longer while, but didn’t want to burden you with that because that’s _my_ bloody business. I wanted to pull you out of the comfort-zone you feel _so_ very comfortable in that you can’t even perceive me in any other way but as your _unchivalrous_ friend. And then, here we are, and I keep getting these questions about Cersei, after I stayed bachelor for _so_ damn long, after I refused to date _anyone_ to achieve that they would stop. I was just so damn fed up with it that this proved to me that I could have been dating _you_ all this time – because it didn’t help to stay bachelor, at all. The questions about Cersei still came. I was frustrated and I realized that if I had gone with what I originally wanted, I would have fared far better.”

Brienne just keeps staring at him, not knowing what else to do, or how to do it. Her mind is a complete blank. A wall of white flashes of light.

“So yes, I blurted out saying the things I wished I had said all the while before. I blurted out saying the things I would have said in all earnest, had we started dating back then. Crucify me for letting my masquerade fall for once, for falling out of character or whatever. And crucify _you_ for being so bloody dense sometimes, wench. Damn it!” he curses.

“… Why didn’t you just talk to me?” Brienne asks after a long moment, her voice no more than a faint whisper.

“As I said, I didn’t want to drag you into this,” Jaime tells her.

“You did that, _right now_ ,” Brienne corrects him, to which he lets out a small, annoyed moan. “In public.”

“I _know_ , but that was not on purpose. That was _not_ part of the plan… _All_ of this was not part of the plan. Did you really think it was my _intention_ to make such declaration in the friggin’ bathroom?” Jaime grunts in sheer frustration. “I have more class than that.”

He turns on the heel, pacing over to the sink.

“Seven Hells!”

“No, hey, eyes on me now!” Brienne demands, much to her own surprise. Jaime looks equally shocked as he almost jumps back to meeting her gaze.

“I can’t talk to you if you don’t look at me. I’m bad enough at reading people,” Brienne warns him. Jaime blinks, but then keeps his eyes fixed on her, understanding.

“Why… why didn’t you talk to me? Didn’t you trust me? Had you… had you said to me that you had _such_ intentions – and that you simply couldn’t act upon it at present, then I could have… _worked_ with that. Then I could have… I don’t know, maybe we could have found a solution _together_. What keeps bothering me about you is that I never know what you are up to. Because yes, you make jokes when I don’t know them to be jokes, and maybe that’s also on me, but you make it so damn hard for me to know what’s up with you that I sometimes don’t know what else to do but to take the things you say not as seriously. You are a too marvelous actor to trust at times. You say you don't pretend when around me – well, that was apparently a lie as well, because you had other things in mind, because you kept secrets. You tell me, how am I supposed to trust your words when you lie to me again and again? Or make it a joke?”

Brienne still tries to wrap her head around the fact that they have such a conversation on the night of the premiere… in the bathroom.

“… Fuck,” is the one reply she receives, but not the one she expected, “What now?”

“I don’t have a good comeback for that,” Jaime huffs, flashing a weary smile. “Because, _of cour_ se, you are right, because you always have to be right – and I hate that. I lied to you, not about the things that you may have thought, but… I lied to you. This is… this is screwed-up.”

That is the moment another person opens the door, only to give Jaime and Brienne a quick look-over, before turning on the heel and leaving. The two exchange glances, but then just… crack up laughing, not knowing what else to do.

Because this is screwed-up.

Because they have such conversation in the most unlikable place imaginable.

Because this is ridiculous.

They are, they both are.

“I think we should leave the bathroom. People need that space for _certain_ reasons,” he huffs.

“Yeah, we better should,” Brienne nods.

“Will you run off the moment I open the door?” he asks.

“Probably not,” Brienne shrugs.

“Good,” he nods, flashing a small smile.

The two exit.

“Where to?” Brienne asks, looking around nervously.

“I guess we need some fresh air. C’mon, I know a shortcut – past the cameras,” Jaime says, taking her by the wrist, pulling her along, and Brienne simply lets him, still mentally mulling over all of what he just said.

Because it was so much that he said.

So many things he left unspoken for such a long time.

The crisp cold night air hits their faces once they exit the location, the stars shining brightly in the otherwise pitch black sky.

“I fear I still don’t have a good answer. I tried to come up with one, but no such luck,” Jaime says almost apologetically. “I thought I was protecting you, I guess.”

“Just that I don’t need protection,” Brienne lectures him.

“You _do_ need it, you just don’t want to accept it. There is a difference,” Jaime argues, now in a slightly harsher tone.

And suddenly Brienne is back in the Kingswood – and how it all went down the drain.

Jaime had dragged her to a hiking trip that proved to be a total disaster. It was Jaime’s idea to go there during the _rainy_ season, and by that is meant rainy to the point that the rivers were flooded. But Jaime wanted to, and Brienne couldn’t say ‘no’ after he kept making that stupid puppy-face. So they went for a hiking trip.

It was all fun until day two when Jaime insisted on taking some old bridge to cut across the river, though Brienne didn’t want to go because the wood didn’t seem stable to her, but Jaime went, ignoring her concerns. Brienne, not knowing what else to do, simply followed him. But then her predictions became reality as the bridge gave way – and they made it off of it mere second before it was consumed by the sloshing river. That left them now further into the woods – and pretty much on a small island that had formed due to the water masses, the only bridge having been the one that the current had taken away mere second ago.

To make matters worse, Brienne had injured her leg in the process of jumping off the bridge, but kept it to herself – because they had to get some place more sheltered with the upcoming storm, or if not, at least find a way to cross back over and away from the small isle – back to the place where the walkie-talkie actually worked again.

Jaime eventually spotted a riverbank that was not too badly affected due to a massive sort of clog of twigs, branches, and leaves. The water was still streaming through so that they were underwater all the way to their navels, but the current was not too bad. It took Brienne just about everything to wade through the water with her bad leg, but she managed somehow. The problem was the climb that was supposed to follow. Under normal conditions, no problem for Brienne, it was a stone wall she usually would have climbed already at the age of seven, but with the leg injury, the fatigue, and the slippery stones, this proved to be a Herculean task. Yet, she was too stubborn to tell Jaime. _Of course_. Brienne thought she could pull through just like she pulled through the river.

Well, she thought wrong.

Halfway up the wall, she lost her footing, and to make matters worse, the rope seemingly wasn’t properly secured in the heavy rain. Brienne already saw herself crushing to the ground, but it had been Jaime who’s managed to hold her up with one hand somehow, anyhow, and pulled her until she found footing again. The rest of the wall was a blur of throbbing pain and guilt until they got over the ledge and just lay in the wet grass.

Brienne had already feared for the worst when it came to Jaime’s hand, with the force that was put on the limb, and the awkward angle with which he was forced to do it, but before she could curse at him for doing such a reckless thing, he was right in her face for not telling her of the leg injury, telling her that she’d almost gotten herself killed by not letting him help her, by not trusting him. That this almost cost him his life, too, was something he didn’t even think about.

He didn’t even think of his own injured hand.

He was mad at her for not trusting him, for getting herself into danger like that.

Back then, Brienne knew no better than to simply apologize. Gladly, they soon found a spot where they could call for help. It earned them a not-so-fancy ride in a helicopter – and a longer hospital-stay. Though with Jaime, it was really much worse because the facture was quite complex, and the doctors already talked about how he may not regain full mobility in the wrist. Brienne had been so guilty that she wouldn’t leave his side and just constantly apologized to him, not accepting his “it’s fine” – because it wasn’t.

So on the day of the final surgery that was the sort of will-it-will-it-not-work moment, Brienne made him the promise that she owed him a favor, that this was an oath and that she meant to keep it. Glad for them, the surgery was a success, Jaime regained full mobility faster than the doctors ever envisioned, and the two later on came to talk about the incident and the promise as Oathkeeper. As far as Brienne recalls, Jaime came up with it, and they just kept it.

But it was during that moment that she had caught a glance of a very vulnerable, very true Jaime, one who’s had all of his defenses and masquerades pulled off his face.

It seems so far away most of the time, but tonight, it feels as though it was only yesterday that they climbed that wall.

Just that this time, _Jaime_ didn’t tell her. And that makes it ever the harder.

“Well, you are the one to talk,” Brienne can’t help but argue.

“Touché, I guess,” he sighs. “But I think there’s another pressing matter.”

“Which would be?” Brienne asks uncertainly. 

“Do you feel the same?”

Brienne blinks.

She never had anyone ask her such a question, to be honest. Even with guys she dated, it wasn’t ever… up to debate. They _knew_ they were dating, so there was no reason to say it, or so Brienne understood.

Brienne never had anyone ask her if she had romantic feelings for that person.

Brienne never had someone ask her if she loved that person.

And she never even talked about love more generally with Jaime.

This is so far out of the world that Brienne, for a split second, believes that maybe she is still in the theater, dreaming herself in the scenery of _The Long Night_ and how Lan came to ask Tara if she’d go with him once the battle against the creatures of the night was won, with the future still uncertain, the Long Night still prevailing, and no sure telling if they were going to pull through.

“Now don’t look so surprised. That question had to turn up in the course of such a conversation, let’s not pretend. The thing is… I only talked about… _me_ … Because that’s perhaps the easiest thing to do. It's all for nothing if there is really just me who’s had his little fantasy of how it should have been,” Jaime tells her.

“I, I don’t know. I’ve never… thought about it,” Brienne replies, puckering her lips, the suety taste of the lipstick long since gone, as often as she bit her lip over the last couple of hours.

“I told you time and time again that you are a terrible liar, right? You _did_ think about it. You can just say it. I’m not that fragile. I can take it, you know?” Jaime argues with a sly smile.

And for some reason, Brienne suddenly has the feeling that she can tell that expression apart, and that Jaime’s smile is actually the masquerade right now.

As though she suddenly found the real Jaime behind film-Jaime, broke through the screen.

“… I never thought you’d want me… like that. As _friends_ , sure, but… not _more_. I don’t know, I always thought that you could easily have all those pretty girls from your jobs, the one with outgoing personalities, who are _not_ awkward, and _are_ actually funny and not just… making people laugh because they act awkwardly.”

“Well, that’s the thing. You are not like other people. I learned to appreciate that about you. I’m not like most other people either, but that still doesn’t answer the question,” Jaime argues. “And I find you more than humorous. One just has to figure out your kind of humor. Like you had to figure out mine, I guess.”

“This is very sudden,” Brienne shakes her head.

And that is probably an understatement.

Just a few hours back, she prepared for a snarky scheme created by her odd best friend, and now, here they stand and talk about… feelings.

And usually, Brienne doesn’t want to talk feelings.

In general, Brienne doesn’t like to talk much… well, unless in casual conversation with Jaime, but… but that’s something else.

… But why is it?

“I know, but that’s the way it goes at times. There is no plan for these kinds of things, or so I learned. I tried to plan it, and it backfired on us both, didn’t it?” Jaime argues.

“Back in the Kingswood, I… I… I thought there was something, I don’t know. But it was soon overshadowed by all the other horrible events that followed. However, that was when I said to myself that maybe there was more…,” Brienne finds herself admit out loud before she can actually think about it.

She never admits such things aloud.

She never…

This night is the realm of never, or so it seems, where everything that was considered never is now, and what once was now seems like a past over all too long already.

“What made you stop believing that?” he asks.

“Once you were back to your usual snarky self, I suppose,” Brienne shrugs.

At some point, Jaime simply went back to making comments, after they had been so quiet during the time it was still uncertain if he’d regain full mobility in his hand. And however selfish it may have been, Brienne was glad for those quiet moments where it was just them.

But then… it just got louder again and Brienne had said to herself that she had just seen things that weren’t ever there.

Brienne studies Jaime’s facial expression, expecting him to smile his sly smile, make a comment, but… it’s not there. He just wants to know.

He _needs_ to know.

This is all so new.

“Ah, always the snarky comments that stand in the way,” he huffs. “I guess I really have to work on that habit.”

“I guess.”

“Would you have agreed to a date, had I asked you back then?” Jaime then questions.

“… I guess,” she can’t help but say.

She had less and less dates the more time she spent with Jaime, already because most of the men seemed somewhat irritated if not threatened by Jaime as her best friend. Brienne always understood it in such a way that this was just common for people who are too set on gender roles and who are just too set on believing that there can’t be friendship between a man and a woman.

Even if, upon reflection, things may just turned out in such a way that they are the living examples of the contrary.

Perhaps they are odd stereotypes after all.

But what does it matter?

Neither Brienne nor Jaime ever gave anything on what others thought of them.

Let it wash over you, right?

“Fuck,” he mutters, running his hand over his gelled hair. “Maybe I should’ve just quitted acting to pull myself out of media’s focus.”

“What? No! Don’t you dare even think that!” Brienne argues with urgency in her voice. Jaime frowns at her, so she goes on, “You have way too much talent and are way too devoted to give that up. This movie proves it, and your other movies before it proved it already. It’s so damn good, you play it so realistically, so… ugh, I’m not good with words, you know that. You can’t just give up. That’s… that’s craven!”

“ _Craven_?”

“Craven.”

“That’s the first time someone’s called me that,” he chuckles softly, seemingly trying to taste the word on his tongue. “ _Craven_.”

Brienne shrugs her broad shoulders helplessly.

“But I guess that’s what I am,” he wriggles his nose. “The thing is…”

“Yes?”

“The thing is… I don't want to be craven anymore. Ever again.”

Brienne opens her mouth to say something, but the words are sucked out of her as Jaime’s lips are suddenly sealing hers, pulling her down a bit. Brienne is shocked at first, completely caught off-guard, but all the quivers soon leave her as Jaime keeps kissing her and she feels warmth spreading throughout her, even in the biting cold of the night.

She was also craven, pulling the friendship-card.

They are both craven.

But maybe there is a chance to act bold now.

The kiss is hot and needing, wanting, a breaking loose of emotions long contained, the high tide from the hiking trip that almost swept them away, but didn't and still doesn’t, because they hold on to each other.

At some point Brienne pulls away to meet his gaze, breathing hard, lips swollen, “But, but what about your management? The bachelor thing?”

“It’s over anyways. I told them the opposite tonight, didn’t I?” Jaime chuckles, still slightly out of breath.

“You could still call it a ruse,” Brienne argues.

Because… this is still _her_ , the ungainly, mannish, tall woman who smacks her head against archways.

“Was _that_ a ruse to you?” he questions.

“No?”

“Then this is no ruse – and I won’t make it one.”

His lips attack her before Brienne can come up with another shred of doubt. Even when the rain starts to pour from the pitch black sky, neither one minds, pressed against the other, Brienne backed up against the wall, Jaime looming over her in such a way that Brienne, for the first time in a long time, has the feeling that she knows exactly what his lips are saying, knows what his mind is thinking.

Once he starts to pull on her dress, Brienne stops him with gentle but firm hands.

“Too early?” he asks with a grimace.

“Too much out in the open – and too much rain,” Brienne replies with a sheepish smile. “We can… we can… we can take that… somewhere else, though.”

She usually never talks that boldly.

But then again, it’s Jaime who makes her do the things she usually doesn’t.

He was always the one to break her out of her hard shell.

And Brienne finds herself wanting to be bold, if only in private.

Because she doesn't want this to stop.

Maybe Jaime had the rights of it when he said he only realized it when removed out of the cocoon of habit. That some different light had to be shed on her for him to make up his mind about her. And while it seemed to be the flashing lights for Jaime, it is the dim moonlight in the back of the location for Brienne, next to dumpsters and in a fine spray of rain that the right light was shed for her to see him, blurring out the lies and jokes, to leave Jaime, just Jaime.

“Can we?” he chuckles with a dark grin spreading over his face.

“Unless you don’t want…,” she says, her voice trailing off. He presses himself against her fiercely, “Never doubt that I want.”

“T, taxi?” Brienne stammers.

“For what do we have a chauffeur? C’mon,” he says, pulling her along once more, like the many times he dragged her when she wasn’t sure, wasn’t ready, or felt she wasn’t ready.

But this time, Brienne has the odd sensation that she is.

Because this is her odd, snarky, misbehaving, unchivalrous best friend, who is an asshole most of the time, and still is quite a mystery to her.

“Won’t people realize that you are gone?” she asks.

“I don’t care. If at all, I’m living up to what I said on the red carpet,” Jaime shrugs. “You know that this means that we are now officially dating and that this means that paparazzi will be chasing you wherever you go?”

“Well, it’s… you’ll have to prove to me that it’s worth it, I guess,” Brienne replies sheepishly, her cheeks flushed.

“Oh, I will. I promise. I won’t become an Oathbreaker on that one.”


	4. Premieres

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thanks for sticking around. 
> 
> Here goes the last chapter/epilog of the premiere ride. I hope you enjoyed your stay. ;)

The next morning leaves Brienne sitting cross-legged in her bed, her hair probably looking like a bird’s nest, though she doesn’t care to look in a mirror.

One should still think that this is either so cliché-laden that it’s out of the movies, or just so queer that it can only be out of an unrealistic movie. In either way, Brienne never saw herself in such a role.

Yet, here she is.

Or rather, here _they_ are.

Brienne wrinkles her nose as Jaime maneuvers into the bedroom, still in just his boxers, brushing his teeth, a newspaper in hand.

“Slee’ng ‘oo ’y’s ‘oken ‘uh?”

“What?” Brienne frowns at Jaime, who holds up his index finger, quickly disappearing into small bathroom to spit out the toothpaste, only to come back inside with his usual grin.

“You meant to say?”

“Sleeping Beauty has finally woken up,” he replies as he casually sits down on the bed, and Brienne still has to call to mind that just yesterday, this was something she considered impossible.

This situation is impossible.

But… it suddenly isn’t anymore.

She is out of the comfort zone, in a new world.

Yet, she dares to believe that maybe this world is not the almost bad – and can grow to be a new comfort zone.

“Oh yeah, by the way, I wanted to show you this here,” he says, putting down the newspaper in front of her. Brienne blinks at an image of herself in blue satin, on a red carpet.

This definitely looks like it’s out of a cheap movie.

_Most Wanted Bachelor off the Market?_

_Who Is the Lady in Blue?_

_A Tarth-Lannister Alliance Born?_

_Great_ headlines, she thinks to herself, trying hard not to roll her eyes.

“I think I looked pretty decent. I mean, look at the way those trousers hug my calves, and the vest, I mean…,” he means to tease, but Brienne cuts him off, “For the love of the Seven, could you stop musing at your own looks?”

“What? I appreciate what was naturally given to me. You proved to be pretty turned on by it last night, so I think I can boast a bit,” he flashes a dark grin at her.

“A bit? You boast _all the time_. You give me magazines for which you modelled for me to tell you that you are handsome. You are _desperate_ for attention.”

“I give you those so that you have a lasting impression of me and that body.”

“We see each other almost daily. I know the look of your face,” Brienne snorts. “I even see it when I don’t want to see it.”

“Well, and now you can add _all the rest_ to it,” Jaime grins smugly.

“I already did ever since you made me watch that Indie production where you had that naked bathtub scene. Oh, and the camping trip up North.”

“Well yeah, but there is a difference between seeing something, and actually enjoying _all_ of its merits, including the… _haptic_ dimension of the experience.”

“Some things won’t ever change,” Brienne rolls her eyes, allowing her upper body to fall back on the mattress, sending the white cotton sheets flying for a moment.

Brienne can feel the mattress shifting, and suddenly Jaime is atop of her, his feral grin coupled with tousled morning-hair, kissed by sunlight to the point that it’s even more golden than it is by nature, is way too much for her right now.

“And some things do,” he smirks, leaning down for a passionate kiss.

Brienne knows this should be uneasy and awkward, but for reason… it's simply not.

“We should make a home story or something,” he mutters between gasps of air as he pulls away every once in a while from kissing her, shifting on top of her.

“We don’t even live in the same apartment,” Brienne huffs.

“That can easily be changed.”

He just goes on tossing out those snippets between kisses.

“I’m not moving out of my apartment.”

And Brienne keeps tossing back between the kisses.

“I can move in?” he offers.

“Maybe I don’t want you to move in?” she returns.

“It’d make a lot of things easier. I can come and go as I want. And I’m always there… for the _late night activities_ ,” he gives her another dirty grin, kissing down her neck, and Brienne has to try hard to control herself not to lean into the touch.

The worst is not to lose, but to leave him feeling as the winner after all.

“You go on dreaming. We didn’t even date yet,” Brienne manages to say.

“That dinner was…,” he means to say, but she interrupts him, “Doesn’t count. Forget it.”

“I already announced that we are together. In public!”

“You said I was your girlfriend, not that we lived together,” Brienne corrects him.

“Fine, maybe no home story just yet. But some official interview with just us two?” Jaime suggests instead, kissing the corner of her mouth.

This shouldn’t feel as natural as it does.

But it does.

As though this was something they already did in years.

“Over my dead body, or yours!”

“You did fine on the red carpet.”

“No interview!” Brienne looks at him sternly, pushing him slightly.

“They will come anyway.”

“I don’t care.”

“You know you can now wear those uber-big sunglasses?” Jaime offers with a sly grin.

“I don't care about sunglasses.”

“Oh, and we’ll have to make it official for our clans,” he goes on. Brienne’s eyes open unnaturally wide at his words, “My father… oh by the Seven. My father, he… Gods, I… I hate you!”

“You love me.”

“Right now I hate you,” Brienne pouts, but that only seems to fuel Jaime as he presses himself against her even more, forcing some reaction out of her mouth this time.

Damn him!

“You love me, or else you wouldn’t be mewling the way you are.”

“I hate that I love you?”

“That sounds more like the dynamic of our relationship. I hate to love you, too.”

“You know that my Father will kill you?”

“He loves me,” Jaime argues vehemently. “I’m adorable!”

“He doesn’t like you,” Brienne shakes her head.

“Everyone likes me. I’m a likable person,” Jaime insists stubbornly.

“He told me to never bring you along to Tarth again. He thinks you are a bad influence on me,” Brienne argues, actually telling the truth.

Gods help her, her father will see red, Lannister red, to be exact.

“Hm, that may be,” Jaime breathes into the nape of her neck. “But if I am, I could at least properly screw you up to give proof to his words.”

“Ha, you wish,” Brienne huffs.

“No, _you_ wish.”

“ _You_ took the initiative,” Brienne corrects him.

“You responded. You still respond,” Jaime argues, pressing against her yet again to make her mewl.

She really hates him for knowing how to do that!

“I think it’s time that I make some breakfast,” she manages to say with a straight face.

No, not losing yet.

“Oh, no, you stay right where you are,” Jaime pouts.

“Oh, look who’s needy,” Brienne teases.

And perhaps that’s really why it feels so natural.

This is how they acted all the while before. Teasing, laughing, jesting… just that now… it’s more, but that doesn't mean all of the easiness and tease has to disappear, right?

“Just catching up to how many months of not doing that? Way too many, that’s for sure. It may well be that you won’t get to leave your apartment for the next couple of weeks. Or rather, that you’ll be physically unable to,” Jaime grins, pulling her incredibly closer to him.

“Oh my God, you didn’t just say that,” Brienne cries out.

“I didn’t just say that, I _meant_ it.”

“I’m making breakfast now,” Brienne declares.

“You’re my favorite dish anyway. I don’t need more.”

“Shut your filthy mouth!” Brienne shrieks.

“Ha, give me some time and I will make you beg for the opposite.”

Brienne thrusts her palm against his face, to push him back.

“Ow,” he mewls as she forces him to sit back.

“I barely touched you,” Brienne rolls her eyes. “Stop whining”

“You are violent,” Jaime pouts.

“Nothing you didn’t already know,” Brienne shrugs, getting up.

“Oh, c’mon, you can’t just leave me here,” he complains.

“You can count yourself lucky that I didn’t throw you out yet,” Brienne argues.

“I’m your dearest boyfriend, how dare you?”

“That means I can now throw you out whenever you misbehave.”

“You can’t bear without me, we both know that.”

“Is that so?” she tilts her head, contemplating.

He suddenly pulls her back by the wrist to kiss her almost sweetly this time.

“That _is_ so.”

“Aha,” she smiles against his lips.

And it feels so easy all of a sudden.

“You know what I just realized?”

“That this actually happened?” Brienne blurts out saying.

Because that is something she still has to convince herself of.

That this isn’t just some dream, or some part of a movie she remembers.

That this is reality.

“Haha, that, too. No, but… now that I see you like that, I must say I like that look even better on you than the stunning blue dress.”

“What? Why?”

Unkempt hair, smudged make-up, worn tank top and short pajama pants.

Not much of a fairytale, is it?

This is definitely not out of the movies.

“Because this is you.”

He pulls her back down – and Brienne just lets it happen.

Those were the small moments that she found herself seeking back after the Kingswood incident, where Jaime was just Jaime and she was just Brienne.

And now… now it seems so incredibly close, in fact, it’s right there, right between them, right between their lips.

“So? Can we negotiate the terms of your extended stay here?” he smirks against her teeth.

“Maybe?”

“I can work with that. I’m damn good at convincing people – if I managed to convince you of all this here, I think there is any stopping for me now.”

“You still have to prove that.”

“Ah, no problem.”

He kisses her with more urgency, holding her tighter.

“I can show you a magic trick?” he grins against her lips.

“You will not.”

“It’s really great! I can make something appear and then disappear!”

“Stop it, or else I’ll go for a morning run!” Brienne warns him.

The unwritten contract is still there.

“This is even worse than breakfast!” he complains.

“No more talking.”

Jaime grins a wicked smile as he pushes her back on the sheets, looming above her.

“I can agree to that.”

He kisses her, and she kisses back.

There are no more words needed.

Because, at last, they understand what they mean.

What they mean to each other.

The masks fell.

And now… now there is just them, cotton sheets, the faint smell of printer’s ink, and the unspoken promise of a not so distant, outlandish future.

At least not anymore.

There seems to be premiere for everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I wanted to end with one of my favorite things... banter.
> 
> Sexy banter.


End file.
